Colonel Burton
by Toasterman
Summary: It is widely thought by many people that Colonel Timothy Burton is a very shallow person, believing very blindly in his country, God and apple pie, and that the only phrases he is capable of uttering are one-liners. Those people are absolutely right on.


**Colonel Burton!**

He's here, and he's got a present for ya!

**Prologue: Time to Kill!**

Colonel Timothy Burton slammed into the chain link fence shoulder first, breaking through with a very deep and not at all stealthy grunt. The fence fell to the ground, the first thing to drop in what would be a highly destructive one man assault on the Chinese base. As anticipated, the break was detected by a sentry and before Burton knew it, alarms were sounding all across the facility.

The high noon sun splashed down upon his tanned back as he ran headlong across the open area between the violated perimeter and the first of the base's buildings. The Chinese had established themselves in this area fairly quickly, and as such most of the buildings were small and hastily constructed of wooden planks.

Of course, these weak wooden planks couldn't stand up to Colonel Burton.

He plowed through a wall head first, emerging into a stunned barracks block of confused Chinese Red Guard. Most of them were halfway through cleaning their bolt action rifles, shocked by the sudden alarm and appearance of the big sweaty American commando.

Acting on instinct, Burton drew his machete and sliced the nearest enemy soldier's head off his shoulders.

"Have some steel!" he growled at the falling body.

Two more hostiles stood up, going for their bayonets. Burton threw his machete as a ninja would a star. It hit one of the men in the forehead, breaking his head apart and continuing onward till it got jammed in between two planks on the wall. The remaining man thrust out with his bayonet, but Burton was too quick for the under-trained commie.

He grabbed the soldier's wrist and threw him to the ground, where he promptly busted his face with the heel of his combat boot. "Eat it!"

Three more Chinese troops stood up behind him, readying their rifles. Burton whipped out both his .50 cal. Desert Eagle and blew them all away, firing backwards with the pistol sideways. Blood gushed from the various wounds to their upper bodies as they toppled over backward, knocking over the card table they'd been playing at.

The remaining Red Guard in the barracks building had by this point gotten ready for a fight, their rifles coming up to meet Colonel Burton's icy glare. Before they could fire, however, he whipped out a second Eagle and started busting caps. Rib cages burst open, spilling organs across the now blood-slick planks that served as the floor. A few of them got off shots, but Burton easily evaded these by twisting about, firing the entire time.

The last Chinese man hit the ground with his right leg stumped at the knee.

"Hope you got insurance," Butron threw back over his shoulder as he exited the building, dropping the empty pistols to the ground as he did so.

He pulled his machete out of the wall on his way out, holding it in his right fist. The barracks exit dumped him right out into the middle of the base, where a wide open area was broken up only by a large nuclear silo.

"Found ya," Burton muttered, grinning at the big silo building and feeling the toddler-sized sack of C4 on his back.

Of course, there was one small snag: a platoon of infantry and two Battlemaster tanks separated him from the target. That, and a guy next to him had a rifle leveled with his head. Using his remarkable deduction skills, Colonel Burton decided that he would start with the guy next to him.

"Surrender! Now!" the guy said in broken English.

"Sorry," Burton said, abruptly grabbing the guy's rifle and breaking it over his knee like a stick, "But I don't surrender to Commie punks!"

With the reflexes of a cat, Burton reached out and wrapped his forearm around the man's head, pulling him into an iron-strong headlock. He whipped around to face the platoon of infantry just in time to block their fusilade of lead with his new meat shield.

Bullets hammered the flesh in front of him, electing screams out of the dying man as he was torn to bits by his own comrades. His body shook with the impacts, but Burton didn't flinch. Instead, he merely unlimbered the M60 machinegun from his back and returned fire one-handed, mowing down the front squad of Red Guard in a withering barrage of thunder and death.

When his meat shield had deteriorated beyond help, Burton dropped him and dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a shell from one of the two Battlemasters. The barracks exploded behind him, throwing countless splinters of cheap wood into the air.

But Burton didn't give a shit. He didn't live there.

He hit the ground and rolled to his feet, running straight at the enemy tank that hadn't fired yet. Four Red Guard jumped in front of him, but they were quickly dealt with by his M60, falling to the ground with twenty-eight holes in each of their chests.

Burton jumped onto the Battlemaster and ripped the top hatch open. The tank's commander stabbed up at him with a sword, but Burton caught the tip of it in between his teeth. Yanking his head backward, he pulled the sword out of his opponent's grasp. He spit it to the side and looked back down at the astounded commander.

"I got the point!" he growled, then squeezed the trigger on his M60.

The commander's face vanished in a spray of pinkish red and his body fell down into the tank, landing on top of the gunner. Burton dropped a grenade into the hatch and jumped back, hitting the dirt just as the explosive went off and took the tank's reserve ammo supply with it. The turret was blown off and sent spinning into a group of infantry, crushing a number of them.

Burton mowed down the rest of the infantry and ducked behind the destroyed tank, avoiding a shot from the one remaining armored vehicle. He pulled the empty ammo box off the side of his machinegun and replaced it with customized armor piercing bullets he dubbed 'Burton's Buttfuckers'. Armed with this new load out, he jumped over the destroyed tank and sprayed the still operational one.

The bullets sizzled through the armor, ripping into the crew on the inside with scream-electing results. Burton ran his stream of bullets down the side and into the engine compartment, blasting the rear off of the tank in a billowing explosion.

With the tank out of the way, Burton turned to the nuclear missile silo, only to see that its roof was pulling back. A missile's tip appeared as a massive ICBM was prepared for launch, probably to attack the free country that he loved so much!

"Not in my world, punk!" Burton shouted, and threw his explosive toddler sack at the emerging missile.

The adhesive charge latched onto the warhead and started beeping, counting down the thirty seconds until detonation. Burton jumped up on the tank he had just destroyed and hopped in, sealing the hatch behind him and hunkering down beside the dead loader.

"Time for a ride," he grumbled, steeling himself against what was about to go down.

The charge went off, in turn setting off the much larger nuclear warhead. There was a deafening bang and Burton felt a sensation of extreme G-forces as the Battlemaster was hurled across the Turkmekistani desert. The tank hit the dirt and rolled for over three miles before finally coming to a crunching stop in a form that sort of resembled a destroyed beer can.

Burton kicked open the warped hatch and stood up, his head throbbing like hell. Off in the distance, a mushroom cloud was cresting the horizon below a rapidly blackening cloud front. Radiation would be off the scales, but Burton didn't give a shit. He'd handled plenty worse than a puny cancerous tumor.

"Stop right there, infidel!"

Calmly, Burton turned to see a patrol of seventeen GLA rebels, their AK47s leveled with his position. He brought up his M60 and machete, smirking a big, fat American fast-food eating smirk.

"Bring it on!"

**Author's Note: Firstly, I have absolutely no idea what Burton's first name actually is, so I went with the most non-macho one I could think of. Yes, this is a parody, so don't get your panties in a bunch if you're a big 'CANNON OR NOTHING!' Barbie. Let's face it, Burton was born to be made fun of. He's like John Matrix_, _Rambo, Duke Nukem and Dirty Harry all rolled into one!**

**Yeah, and take note that this was a prologue. There's actually more of this vile crap coming up, and it won't be pretty. We'll get to meet everyone from Burton's overworked commanding officer, to his nerdy tech dev guy, to his arch enemy Jarmen Kell, to his dear old mommy whose name is forever imortalized on his bicep in a loving heart. Also, we'll learn why he says all these terrible one liners.**

**Or maybe not. I have no clue. Just review it and give me your thoughts, alright? And if you have any concerns, fire me a PM and we'll bullshit about it.**


End file.
